Keeping up with the Winchesters
by currentlyabsent
Summary: Just a collection of silly, often crack! one shots, mostly centered around Castiel and the Winchester boys. Might include other characters too, as I go along.
1. On the Dotted Line

Set around season 4-5, when Castiel has just begun to become familiar with the Winchesters and their ways with words.

* * *

" Hey Cas."

Castiel frowned and looked down at the hunter greeting his arrival, who was currently sitting on the edge of his motel bed, beer in hand. He did not approve of the hunter butchering around his name; after all, it was given by his father, and he was fairly proud of it. He surely didn't go around calling Dean 'De'. The issue should be sorted out before it stuck.

" I do not approve of you calling me that, Dean."  
" What? You want me to call you Sir or something? "  
" No, I would prefer you call me my proper name, Castiel."

Dean looked at the angel as if he had just got baptized in motor oil and was to be called Optimus Prime. In other words, Not Happening.

" Dude, your name's too long. And it's... too- "

Castiel tilted his head slightly, waiting for the word to drop. Dean scratched his head and knitted his brows in frustration, and blurted out an answer.

" Angel-ly? "

It was these moments Castiel found humans to be very complex beings indeed. Such dexterity and wit on one side of the spectrum, and on the other side was... this. God given words would not explain how frustrating this confusion was.

" You are stating the obvious. I am an angel of the lord, the character of my name follows."  
" Yeah, but still. It's weird. Hey, Castiel. Personal space, Castiel. Damn it Castiel, don't follow me into the shower!"  
" I apologize for that event. I did not know bodily cleaning was considered a private act."

Dean stuck out his tongue and shuddered. Ugh, he was just about to start a bit of self-loving when the angel, in his smelly trench coat of the Lord and shoes to natch, had stepped in on him. Castiel was shot smack in the face by a full blast of lukewarm motel water before he had a chance to speak. So not happening again. Man, whoever named the Victoria's Secret top models 'Angels' would be better off reconsidering. Not that he would mind having one of those angels inside his shower. Mm...

Dean was dozing in a fantasy of velvet and lace and plenty of scantly clad skin when the angel snapped him back to earth.

" We have diverted from the topic on hand, Dean."

Oh, no cute chicks. It was just him and this winged rock of a man. Dean sighed at all the general suckiness of the particular situation.

" Yeah, because we finished talking about it and are moving on. I'm not calling you Castiel, dude. It's gay."

Castiel had now finally begun to grasp that when the hunter used the word "gay", it did not mean "having or showing a merry, lively mood" but more often "homosexual", and sometimes not even that- it was used to indicate that the subject in question was displeasing to him. He had often used the expression as a conclusion for verbal conflicts, along as an adjective for vampires, moldy mattresses and Sam's hair, the last one being associated with the word very frequently. Castiel shuffled a bit in his seat.

" It could have been less fortunate for me."  
" Huh? "

Castiel gave a long, distant gaze. Dean stared.

" I had a brother once. "  
" Yeah, and ? "  
" He was born under the name- "

Castiel took a deep breath.

" Razziel."

Dean, unfortunately, was in the midst of taking a swig from his bottle- he sputtered his drink all over the bed, and doubly unfortunately, also on the angel's trench coat. The angel gave a mournful face that indicated one of his favorite uncles were dead, and gave a snap of his fingers, cleaning the offending liquid instantly. He continued.

" It was heard that Father thought it was quite... modern. However- Razziel, he thought otherwise. He preferred to be called Abagof, shorthand for... "

Castiel's speech lowered a pitch and hastened a pace;

"'Father-is-a-bag-of-goat-turds'"

After a thought, he carefully added, almost as if giving an excuse:

"Some of our other brothers did, however, continue to address him by his original name. But he became very distressed, and insisted on being called his moniker."

Castiel gave a glance up to the sky, as if he was asking for forgiveness. If the scene could have been photographed, it would have been given global awards for its representation in piety and solemn sincerity. If there was not, of course, a hunter snorting beer out of his nostrils and laughing like a hyena on crack in the background. The offending hunter coughed, hacked and swiped his mouth, and opened it to speak in a strained voice, still dripping with riot.

" So, I guess Castiel's pretty cool, huh? "  
" Names do not acquire temperature, Dean."  
" I mean it's decent."  
" Yes. Indeed. "

The angel gave each word with a firm, slow nod. He had clearly convinced the hunter to call his proper name now, and he could go on his business in peace.

" Yeah, but I'm still not calling you that."

Castiel gave Dean a puzzled look.

" I'm gonna to call you Brother-of-Father-is-a-bag-of-goat-turds. Hey, if I can manage a mouthful of a name as long as yours, I think I'm capable at saying sentences, Brother-of-Father-is-a-bag-of-goat-turds."

The hunter gave a toothy smile like he just won title of Wittiest Man in all Creation of the Universe. Castiel frowned and sighed. Would it be quite so disobedient to his father to push this man back into perdition? Just a moment would do.

" I would prefer 'Cas', Dean. Cas. "  
" Yeah? Great. "

The angel sighed yet again. Humans were things hard to understand, complex indeed.


	2. Hand Wash Cold

Set around season 5, when Castiel loses his grace and falls human, but not entirely so.  
There's a bit of Cas/Dean in the air, but Dean doesn't know it yet.

* * *

" What the fuck, Cas? "

Castiel looked at the frowning hunter questioningly. He had lost touch of his grace recently, but had somehow managed to use his wings to the lodgings where the Winchesters were now staying, although Dean seemed not to be very pleased at his arrival. He was probably unaware of how much effort it had just took the angel for even the simplest act of arriving as planned. The last time he had attempted to visit the hunter, he had fallen half-way and had stumbled into a floor short of his destination, and startled the masturbating business man in bed. While it was an interesting experience, being cursed and sworn at in Swedish, it wasn't one he would mark as pleasurable, and he crinkled his nose at the memory. Dean put down the gun he was polishing, and stood up to face him.

" If you're going for Hobo-chic, you've got it nailed. Man, you even smell like it. What are you, a homeless now? "  
" I've been losing touch with heaven. I may indeed be homeless. "

A pang of guilt passed Dean's face, and he grabbed the angel by the arm.

" Yeah, never knew angels could be hobos too. Come on, you can't go running... or flapping around like that, you look like yourself in 2014. "  
" I...I don't understand that reference."  
" Yeah, and it's better off you don't."

Dean shuddered at the memory of hippie-Cas, bearded and depleted of hope of any kind. If Zachariah had been shooting for scorching his brains into submission by the means of painful imagery, he'd done a damned good job and was really the most assholiest of them all. He could almost see the powerful corporate executive face leer in delight at the sight of his distress. Dean shook his head and tried to concentrate on the task of raising Cas from hobo-perdition. He dragged Cas to the tiny motel bathroom and set him straight in front of the mirror.

" I know it's damned hard for you now, but Dude, seriously. Look at yourself. "

Castiel stared at his reflection, Dean's arm still clutching his own. While his grace was intact, he'd been absent-mindedly returning his vessel to its original state, when things began to show the toss and toil of time. He wasn't quite able to do that anymore, and the effect was definitely showing. He'd grown a good deal of a beard, and when he reached up and touched his face, the texture was alien to him. His cheeks had hollowed a bit, and his sunken eyes were tired and ringed with dark circles, the hem of his clothes were soiled with bits of mud and dust, evidence of travel without rest. He looked at the weary, astonished face in the mirror and then looked up to Dean.

" I don't even know where to start. Uh... yeah, let's get that beard off your face. Gives me the creeps."  
" I was not aware of your fear of facial hair."

Dean had let go of Cas's arm in favor of rummaging around the bathroom for razor blades, a small can of shaving cream, and a towel.

" Me? Beards? Nah, it's just on you. Yeah, and take off your Gazette gear- you won't be needing that while you shave, will ya?"

He thrust his collection of bathroom appliances into Castiel's hands, and took his trench coat and prepared to step out of the door, giving a grunt of "get to work," as he did. Castiel stared at the unfamiliar tools in his hands. The concept of shaving was new to him. He'd seen Dean once or twice doing so and had startled him as to cause the hunter to cut himself, owning a curse or two and a lecture on the importance of personal space. But he had never even thought a day would come that he'd do it himself. He called to the hunter.

" Dean, I am unfamiliar with this ritual."

Dean poked an exasperated face through the door.

" You don't know how to shave? "  
" No. "

Dean face-palmed himself as he stepped back in, and the angel wondered whether he owed him an apology. The next moment, Dean was spreading some foamy white gel from the little can he had given him onto his face. Castiel winced at the unfamiliar cool feel on his skin. Dean was already getting a disposable razor blade ready.

" If you're becoming one of us, Cas, you need to take care of yourself like one, yeah? "

Castiel nodded. He was afraid he might ingest the thing on his lips dare he opened his mouth. Dean raised his hand and put the razor to the angel's face, telling him the while to look in the mirror. The hunter was already furiously contemplating whether the act of shaving a grown man's face that was not his; really super gay or not. He was arguing with his own mind that it didn't count for angels. But deep inside, he knew.

This was gay.

He could already hear the background music to Hunchback Mountain or whatever that movie was. He only watched it because it was on and there was nothing better to do. Except researching maybe, but he didn't feel like it. He was not admitting to hell and onward that hot cowboys sort of turned him on. Yeah, but in a totally, totally manly way. Not that he admitted it. No. Nope. No.

He decided to stop thinking about gay cowboy movies and rinsed off the residue on his blade and looked at the half of Cas's cheek, smooth as a baby's ass, with satisfaction. He handed the razor to Cas.

" There. Try the other side by yourself. No way in hell I'm going to do this twice."

Castiel took the handle cautiously, and held it up to his face. He wasn't sure how much pressure to apply, but he'd been paying careful attention to Dean's rather rapid and for some reason, flustered hand movements, and used about the same amount of strength he'd felt on his skin. He did this without procuring accidents, save for a small cut when he'd moved the blade sideways, just to remove a patch he'd missed out. After telling him to rinse off his face and apply some stinging, fragrant liquid from a bottle on his face, Dean put a band-aid on the offending scar, and while it was tiny, it still stung, reminding him of how close to human he was.

Dean was now carrying in the trench coat with a scowl on his face.

" Wow, this literally stinks. Angel-mojo's a real good deodorant, if you ask me."

He dumped the coat into the sink, and turned on the faucet. Cold water blast onto the coat, drenching it a dark tan. He motioned for Castiel to roll up his sleeves, and Castiel did as he was beckoned. Dean took a bar of soap and rubbed it into the coat, which had already released a surge of filth into the water.

" In case you don't know, this is soap. You rub it into the clothes, wash it out with water- you can get water by turning this thing here, and you get a cleaner, non-stinky coat. Give it a go."

He rinsed off his hands and went out of the bathroom once more. Castiel stared at the wet pile of one of his most prized possessions, and looked at the white, slimy, bubbly thing in his hand. It did smell pleasant, but it was not quite so agreeable to touch. It felt like a very square frog. He grabbed it in his hands, but found it slippery, and it slid out his palms. He grabbed it again, but found that the surface was surprisingly yielding, and was afraid he might do harm to its form. Given that he wasn't in full power, it would be difficult to heal back into its original state. He pondered at the puzzling character of his given tool. He had been thinking a good 20 minutes on the mystical character of his Father's creation and how complex this whole creation of his were, when Dean poked in his head back, suspicious of the unusual quietness. He looked bewilderingly at Cas, standing rather hopelessly in front of the basin, the coat clearly unattended to.

" I thought you were supposed to wash the thing yourself?! What the hell, Cas? "  
" I was not able to use the soap, Dean."  
" Wha.."

Castiel shifted his eyes uncomfortably, and continued:

" The soap keeps escaping my hands. "

Yeah, so? Dean's incredulous expression seemed to speak. Castiel elaborated.

" It has a surface that is elusive to the hands, yet it's texture indicates it is too soft, and will yield in a stronger grip. I am afraid I will deconstruct it if I apply more pressure than exactly needed. "

Dean blinked and rubbed his palms on his eyes, folding the fingertips together over his nose. Cas was just like those genius kids he'd once seen in documentary programs, who could memorize the whole of Canterbury Tales word by word and do 12 digit multiplications inside their heads at the blink of a eye, but were hopeless when it came to everyday tasks as to tying shoelaces. The other angels he had seen, albeit them being total assholes, seemed pretty adept in these things- Balthazar with all his coke-snorting and bed-jumping and Gabriel with his porn-productions and all that. He wondered if the hardware of angels ran the intelligence and basic living skill software only when there was a Douchebag manual program installed. He stopped short, wondering where the hell that metaphor popped up from. Probably got it mentally injected from Sammy, who'd screamed at Dean for not setting firewalls and anti-virus programs after yet another single-pilot 'research' on his brother's laptop. He'd at least remembered to delete the internet history. Assbutt.

He awoke from the midst of his thoughts to Cas standing in front of him, dripping soapy water from his fingertips and looking forlorn down at the floor, shuffling his feet. Dean sighed, and took the soap bar once again, and showed Cas how to hold soap properly before teaching him how to actually use it- and watched as the angel washed the coat with careful vigor. Soon, the coat was wrung, given a good shake and put on a chair to dry. The now smooth-faced angel and hunter sat down on the floor, leaning their backs against the bed and clutching a beer in each hand. The air was curiously quiet, pregnant with the awkwardness one has around those who have been rejected from their righteous places.

After taking a swig from his bottle, Dean suddenly chuckled. Castiel stared.

" I just shaved an angel and washed his smelly coat. Man. "  
" If I were an angel in full power, this would have not have happened."  
" Yeah, and you know what? I'm sort of glad it did. You don't get to see an angel shaving cut himself like a teenager everyday. "

Dean chuckled. He knew throwing around jokes was his way of coping with life wrenching problems, and Castiel knew it too. He gave a small glimmer of a smile, which caused a small sting from his new scar. He didn't mind now.

" As an angel or human, your company is still what they say is a 'pain in the ass.' "  
" Yeah, back a'tcha. "

Coming back from field research, Sam got a text.

[ just shaved a hobo angel washed his coat too]

Sam pondered to himself if trench coats could be spared of dry-cleaning, and thought better of himself. Jimmy's coat was probably hand washable well, in cold water at least. Dean barely managed to sort whites from colors, how on earth did he get himself to do hand washing? Well, there was probably only one reason. He sent back an answer, waiting on a red light.

[ youre gay]

He thought a moment, and sent out a second text, elaborating on the matter.

[ for cas]

He could already hear Dean's bewildered eyebrows jumping into his cowlick. Totally worth it.


	3. French Mistaken

Set in season 6, episode 15; The French Mistake, assuming a slight twist in the plot- you haven't got to seen the attractive crying man cry for mercy- yet; and Dean and Sam are hovering in the studio, trying to stick to their god-awful pansy names*, because they end up staying there a bit longer than they expected. A bit of strong language.

* Personally, I don't hold any objection to their names,  
but Dean and Sam didn't seem to quite look on the same spot as I did.

* * *

This was getting old.

Uncanny replicas of the beloved baby, not even responding to an ignition? Check. Something they call 'foundation' and powder on the face? Check. Alien sentences like "Get the soundings right, it should be anechoic- cue it up, will you? And be a dear and fetch the condenser mike." and " I don't think fading works, we should go for composite? I know, avant-garde, but it works, doesn't it?" floating around the air 50 words a second? Check.

Their trusty angel of Thursday suddenly morphed into a go-happy, generally weird man under the Nancy-boy name Misha? Oh sweet Jesus have mercy, check. Dean wiped a sweat from his brow. This must be the new circle of hell, and he was not enjoying one moment of it. He elbowed his brother.

" We have to get out of here, this place is gives me the creeps."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but dully nodded.

" Yeah... "

Dean somehow got the impression that his brother's attention was not fully on Earth right now. Sam blabbered on.

" You know- Yeah, do you think we could get that Misha dude to somehow get reach of Cas? Maybe they work like some sort of link- he's the last person we saw from our world, so... But, but man, we really do have to get out of here."

He'd been doozy since "lunch break", when fake-Ruby walked into him from behind, gave him a kiss on the cheek and said "you be good, I'll see you at home." and went off again, chatting away on her cellphone. Dean checked his brother to see if he was alleviating a few inches from the ground with a clearly unimpressed expression.

" Yeah, but judging by the look of things, you seem to be scoring pretty well here, Padalecki."

Sam gave his most sternest bitchface yet. Last time Dean had seen it, Sam's laptop was dropped in a public toilet, an unfortunate fate of gravity and ill-placed luggage.

" Stop. Calling me. that. Jensen. Ackles."  
" Touche."

What kind of name was Jensen anyway? It said old-man with a bottle of prune juice all the way. It was still better than Jared Padalecki, though, Dean thought to himself with a note of self-satisfaction. He kept pronouncing it 'Jar-ed' Padalecki instead of 'Jeh-red' Padalecki, and that sounded like someone made a jam out of a Pole. Something the skeevy-ass witches would have a full blown ball and a pack of crackers over.

At least in this world he wouldn't be seeing any of them, it seemed. Well, save for douchebag angels playing the Divine Easter-egg treasure hunt. If the winged ass-hats were planning to put their civil war in updated versions of the Bible, the'd better leave that part out, if they didn't want the Sunday church folk to burst out into a riot just a second after lord's prayer. Smirking to himself, Dean paced a bit faster, trying to catch up with Sam, who was striding towards the studio.

" Still, I don't see why this would be such a- "

Dean was cut midway; he'd bumped into Sam, who had stopped dead in his tracks. Dean frowned as he looked up to see what the commotion was about, and was dumbstruck as well.

Lucifer.

Goddamn Lucifer was leaning against the studio wall, holding a Starbucks coffee cup in one hand and bouncing his head lightly to the music that was streaming from the earphones he had plugged into his buds.

" Dean, Dean, you see that? No, Dean, please tell me I'm just crazy. Please. "  
" Yeah, no, I see goddamn Satan holding a hipster coffee cup, too, you're not hallucinating."  
" You think... you think he's real? "  
" Uh, no- he's probably fake Satan... yeah, I mean, we're fake here, Cas's fake here, why not Lucifer? I mean, you think the devil would drink something that was called his own piss back in the days? Nah. "

Dean could never have had 'trying-to-play-it-cool' written all over his face with a sharpie better as he uttered his slightly stammering words. The mere sight of Lucifer, even when he was pretty much convinced he was fake, was horrifying shit.

" What should we do?"  
" I don't know, say hello to him, genius? Let's get out of here."

They did not have to ponder of their next move, since Lucifer had looked up, pulled the earphones out, and smiled at them. It was the same heart-lurching smile that Sam had come to dread with all his being.

" If it isn't the Winchesters. So happy to see you around."  
" FUCK ! "

The room, which had been buzzing with shop-talk on cameras, scripts and high-angel shots, fell silent. The staff turned around at the sudden profanity. Lucifer looked taken aback.

" Woah, J2, bad day today? Heard you've been really great off-screen and been a bit- you know, unusual on-screen; You punk'd Misha, so I thought I might give it a go. Geez. Sorry."  
" What? You're not... you're not... oh, I mean- I was just..."  
" Too much into the act, " added a strained Dean.

Fake-Lucifer peered at him with his eyes narrowed, head to the side.

" You okay, there? "  
" Yeah, totally fine! Just- just a bit you know, you get... confused! Yeah! Uh, yeah, so, I need to go do something with Sa- Jared, here, definitely Jared, you know, as Jared Padalecki, and so, I, Jensen Ackles, will be off! So, uh, yeah, see you later, Lucifer! "

They tottered out the room in short, fast-paced steps. Mark was still pondering why the'd called him Lucifer. Maybe it was part of a joke. He went back to his coffee, which was now stone-cold. They really must love their work.

They retreated back to the insanely extravagant trailer. Dean sat down on the bed- not a cot, mind you; and Sam perched on the sofa aside it. They sat in silence, pondering what to do next.

" You think fake me has porn on his laptop?"

Dean scrolled through the computer, chuckling softly to himself. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but it was sort of amusing, all this glamorous movie-star shit. He'd told himself he could make sweet love to any camera if he wanted to, especially in the morning, but who'd known it'll be real in some alternate universe? Man, he was pretty in any universe, and it rocked. His smile grew to his ears when he hit a folder under 'files and documents' labeled 'fan-work'. Come to think of it, there was a sticky note on the window, which noted "Study fan-work and come up with something to say for next con". So like fake-him, being a crowd pleasure. He smiled to himself.

" Yeah, with a face this pretty, I bet I get all the bitches here too."

Sam rolled his eyes as he sat closer to his brother, wondering why he was wearing his most obnoxious face to boot. Both faces turned into horrified surprise as they watch the images lined up on the screen.

" Hey, that's Cas! In... Black sweatpants. And gay hair. And a V-neck. Balthazar must be so proud. "  
" Oh my fucking god what the fuck? "

Dean had clicked on the image to get a better view, and both brothers watched in transfixed horror as Cas- as they knew- wriggle up to a wall, put his legs over his head, and proceeded to put his head to his crotch. And try to tongue it.

" You think... you think Cas can do that? "  
" I-I don't wanna think about it- "

They tapped the keyboard, and yet another image of Cas, the same crazy-yoga freak Cas popped up, this time with the words 'I've got a Tyrannosaurus Prick' flashing across it in huge white letters. This was getting sort of fun, after the initial shock wave. They rummaged around a bit, laughing at the various images of Cas- one being him sticking his mouth up the impala window, where Sam was laughing as if he was trying to lodge his lungs out, and Dean looking at the screen with a silent, burning rage. They both fell silent when they found pictures of themselves doing odd things, such as wearing brick-wall-patterned pants (Dean), dancing like he was about to do a crawl on the dance floor (Sam), and posing in what was unmistakably a position of fornication, on-stage (Both). Dean frowned and navigated back to the file thumbnails.

" Hey, there's a folder called 'then-I-looked-it-up-on-google-images-and-it-was-a-mistake'. What the hell is that supposed to mean? "  
" Uh... you were in soap, I don't know if that's a very good ide-"

Too late. Dean had already clicked on the file, and was staring at the screen with a both horrified and transfixed expression. A bunch of images, many of them bearing the name 'tumblr' in them, shot out on the computer screen.

" Oh my god, Dean, when did this happe-"  
" What the fuck Sam, this isn't... this isn't true! These are fake! If I'd screwed Cas, I wouldn't have done it with Baby, for fucks sake! And besides, I'm not the only- "  
" Whoa."  
" Is that you and... "  
" Uh, uh, Dean, just... just stop talking."  
" Whoa, that is just... that is fucked up."

They closed the laptop in silence. But just before the'd shut it down, Dean had made sure to drag and chuck the whole file into the wastebasket. Uh, uh. You don't get to exist even here, evil moving pictures from hell. The brothers looked at each other, thoughts united.

" We need to go home. "  
" Totally. "


End file.
